Sydney Chambers

by B. T. Jaybush

  “Light years and a lifetime away from here. Aerieland, you call this place? Is that the name of the town, or....”

  “Aerieland,” she said, pride burning in her words, “is what we workin’ folk call this whole world. Sure and it’s a wee bit of wishful thinkin’, to be callin’ this pit a name that echoes such lovely memories of the old sod. Still and all, it does seem to roll off the tongue a might easier than the official Company name.” She turned and dry-spat at the floor behind her. “‘16 Cygni B-2’ bears nae as much soul as even the Company that owns it.”

  Garvey nearly choked on a sip of beer. “The Company owns this planet?”

  Shanna grimaced. “Maybe not in the law and certain not in the hearts of the folk. But for all the things that matter, aye, they own it. They own the mines. They own the town, each and every house. They own this pub. The Company even owns the beer.” Her eyes turned bleak. “They mostly own the folk, too.”

  Garvey stared at Shanna for a long minute. “You don’t mean that literally, do you? About the company owning you and the others?”

  Shanna chuckled evilly. “And what would you be callin’ it, when each woman and man is under contract to the Company, owin’ the blighters a debt that grows deeper with each month’s rent and every loaf of bread that we buy?” She shook her head. “So it’s been since the company recruiters descended on County Clare durin’ the blight a century back. Most of us are signed to contract at the age of twelve, ’cause by then there’s a job waitin’ for us in the mines.”

  Garvey felt his stomach begin to sour at what he was hearing. “That’s, ah —” he began.

  “’Tis Irish life on Aerieland,” the barkeep said, her voice flat but a huge shrug conveying a lifetime of emotions. Without another word she moved off, grabbing a large pitcher of the dark beer and heading out to refill the glasses of those in need of more brew. Garvey watched for a minute, washing down a spoonful of surprisingly delicious stew with several sips of the smoky, slightly-bitter draft in his own glass. Shortly after, he managed to catch Saands’ eye, motioning for the sergeant to join him.

  “What’s up, Commander,” the Marine asked as he drew up to the bar, keeping his voice at a low level similar to the general tone of the room.

  “Nothing good,” Garvey murmured back, “but nothing hostile, either. Bartender seems a decent sort, but from what she says....”

  “Yeah, not a whole lot of happy campers on this world from what I’ve picked up.”

  “The whole concept of ‘happy’ seems to be a non-starter in these parts.” Garvey took another pull from his glass and swept a look around the room. “The locals opening up to our people?”

  Saands shrugged. “Some. No one’s giving up their life story, of course, but they’re being what I guess you’d call ‘guardedly friendly’.” He also glanced around, looking for anything that might lead to conflict. “I’m thinking that Status Gamma may have been too much.”

  “Maybe in here,” Garvey said, grimacing. “I bet things wouldn’t be this friendly if we dropped by the Company HQ.”

  “That on the agenda, sir?”

  “Not if I can help it.” Garvey sighed. “No, that move is up to the captain. All she wants from us is a broad picture of what’s going on down here.”

  The Marine shrugged in reply.

  “Your people all got their detox treatments before we left Morrigan?”

  “Yes, sir. No drunk Marines this trip, no matter how much they drink.”

  The exec nodded. “Good. Barkeep said the chit I gave her would cover three rounds. We’ll see how it’s going after that, how much the locals are opening up. No matter what, we’ll at least be fed.” He spooned up another mouthful of the stew.

  “I’ll circulate then, sir, keep my eyes and ears open.”

  As Saands moved off to accomplish his task Garvey saw Shanna approaching him, pitcher in hand. “Up for a refill, O’Garvey?”

  The exec grinned as he held out his mostly empty glass to accept more beer. “You’ll have me talking with a brogue if you keep that up,” he said as she poured, then took a quaff of the heady beverage. “What is this stuff, anyway?”

  “The local version of Guinness Stout,” Shanna told him, mirroring his grin. “I’m told you’d be hard-pressed to tell it from the real thing. So tell me, TSM man, are you likin’ it?”

  “It’s — stout,” Garvey replied, returning the woman’s grin. “I feel like I should be chewing it.”

  Her grin grew wider. “I’ll be tellin’ the brewer that you said so,” she told him, laughter ringing in her voice. “He’ll be likin’ the compliment.”

  They both laughed, and Garvey settled in for an evening of drinking and learning as much about Aerieland as he could.

  4

  “They feel that the mining company owns them?”

  “That’s what she said, Captain,” Garvey agreed. The other members of the recon party, relieved to be gathered around a debriefing table in Morrigan’s conference room after four full days on the depressing company world, nodded in agreement. With two days remaining before repairs to Morrigan’s battle damage would be completed, Sydney had decided to get a first-hand review from all of the crew members who had trekked to the mining world of Cyg-B-2 before reading what would doubtless be cold summaries of their findings. The exercise had so far proven to be a far from heart-warming experience.

  “The locals that I talked to didn’t use that exact language, Ma’am,” Stacy Francis said. “The context was pretty clear, though. None of them feel like their lives are their own, not even before they sign their contracts with Capstone Minerals Ltd. The decision to sign that contract really isn’t theirs, either. It’s essentially forced on them, by their parents if they haven’t been killed in mining accidents by then, or by society if the parents are gone.”

  Sydney shook her head, in disgust. “That this sort of ... well, there’s really no word that covers it other than slavery, is there? That this sort of slavery still exists within the borders of the Confederacy is appalling, not to mention illegal on several levels. I can’t say as I’m surprised, though.” She looked at her exec. “Twelve, really?”

  “Shanna — the bartender — was pretty specific about that,” he agreed. “That’s the legal age of majority under the colony’s charter, and it’s the age when most of the kids are signed to lifetime employment contracts. Worse, those contracts always include both inherited and inheritable debt clauses. They agree to take on whatever amount their parents haven’t paid off — which is usually quite substantial — in return for a promise to pass their own debt along to the next generation.”

  “Every bite they eat and breath they take,” Angus MacCreedle hissed, “forges yet another link in the chain of debt linkin’ the wee bairns to the bosses. The kits never even get a chance.”

  “Indeed.” Sydney scowled. “It more than explains why anyone who manages to get free of the corporate claws would be drawn to acts of piracy against their former masters. What it doesn’t explain is the less than piratical behavior those same pirates showed toward us.”

  “Ah, Captain,” ventured Lieutenant Anna Sorensen, “I believe that it just might.” The captain’s attention snapped to where the ship’s Physician Assistant sat, a thoughtful look on her face.

  “How so?”

  “I think it’s fair to say that there would be severe retribution taken against the families of anyone the Company found to be damaging corporate profit margins.” When Sydney frowned, the woman who was Morrigan’s primary medical officer explained, “Corporations have psychological profiles, much the same as people do, Ma’am.”

  Sydney continued to frown, but she nodded in understanding. “OK.”

  “Consider. A person might be irritated by a mosquito, but she won’t be inclined to do as much about it as she would about, say, a wasp or a hornet. That is to say, she’ll swat at the mosquito but she’s likely to want to wipe out the entire hornet nest so she won’t be bothered again.” Sorensen wa
ited for the captain’s nod of understanding before she continued. “Similarly, a corporation will be far more motivated to retaliate against a pirate who waylays entire cargoes, or who hijacks whole ships, than it will be to avenge minor acts of piracy — things like stealing food or clothing or medical supplies. Those events, while still acts of piracy, a company might be inclined to simply write off as a cost of doing business and not bother to investigate who is behind the sting.”

  Sydney stared at the PA for a moment before sitting back in her chair, a thoughtful expressing working its way onto her face. “Huh,” she said softly. “Robin Hood and his merry men.”

  Even as Garvey grinned at the words, Sorenson frowned in puzzlement. “Captain?”

  Sydney chuckled. “That’s how the manager of Outpost Station described the Cyg-B pirates to me,” she said, then focused on the medic once more. “You’re the ship’s psychologist, right?”

  “Not officially, Ma’am,” Sorensen hedged, “but I am trained in counseling and —”

  The captain cut her off with a wave. “You’re still the closest we’ve got to a profiler,” she said. “I want you to sketch out some thoughts on Patrick O’Shaugnassey and his merry men — what their goals might be, how they might operate. Yes, I know,” she said when the PA looked about to object, “it’s not your specialty. It’s what I need right now, Lieutenant, and you’re elected.” She smiled thinly. “You should have expected something like this when you volunteered for an all-expenses paid trip to a bacchanal.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Sorensen’s face bore a rueful expression.

  “The rest of you,” Sydney said, looking at each face around the table. “Anything else that specifically struck you, beyond what’s in your reports?”

  “Ah, Captain?”

  Sydney caught the eye of the speaker. “Lieutenant Ky?”

  The hydroponics tech hesitated. “It seemed to me....”

  Sydney’s mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile; even in the short time he’d been aboard Morrigan Ky Nguyen had gained a reputation as a man of few words. “Speak up, Lieutenant, there are no wrong answers here.”

  Ky sighed. “Ma’am, I sensed ... tension. Not a lot, but some. Like a coil spring that’s just partially wound.”

  Sydney considered. “More than just resentment at their lot in life?”

  Ky only nodded, as though having used up his allotment of words for the day.

  “I felt something like that as well,” Stacy Francis said, her face showing mild surprise. “I didn’t realized that was what I’d felt until Ky mentioned it. It’s like the people are ... I don’t know, waiting for something? Maybe even expecting something.”

  The captain nodded slowly, then turned to Garvey. “XO?”

  The exec shrugged. “Could be, though I didn’t speak with as many locals as Ky or Francis did.” His smile then was almost shy. “I pretty well concentrated on the bartender — I mean, bartenders usually have their finger on the pulse of what’s going on.”

  Sydney’s raised eyebrows were her only comment as she said, “Of course.” She looked about the table once more. “All of you, reconsider what you learned in light of what you’ve heard here and add anything else you come up with to your thoughts. I want your reports in my in box by sixteen hundred, copies to the XO. Dismissed, except Mr. Garvey.”

  The door to the conference room was still closing when Garvey began, “Captain —”

  “Stow it,” Sydney cut him off. “Your business, as long as it doesn’t affect the ship’s business. What I need from you is a tactical analysis based on those reports as well as what you learned.” She sighed briefly. “And yes, a bartender is a legitimate source to be pumped, even if you enjoyed the pumping.”

  Garvey seemed briefly embarrassed, but then quickly frowned as another thought struck him. “Captain, another matter. The local officials, as opposed to the local citizens, were not happy to have TSM on their planet unannounced. We were just lucky they were so busy when we dropped in that they couldn’t force us to land at their port. As it is we only got the one day of local contact before the official greeters swooped in and ‘made us welcome’.”

  Sydney shrugged. “Ticking off local honchos doesn’t bother me a whole lot.”

  “Yeah, but we would have learned more if they’d left us alone. Those two days of formal touring were a thorough waste of time.” The exec sighed. “Still, it might be worth it to do a formal follow up with them. I ... ah, represented us as ‘the new sheriff in town,’ and a new sheriff usually drops around to show off the badge. My guess is that they’ll expect it.”

  The look on Sydney’s face was of sheer distaste. “Really, the new sheriff in town?”

  “It seemed in character, considering I was a thirsty sailor at the time.”

  She gave a dry chuckle. “Fine. Route us past B-2 —”

  “Aerieland.”

  Sydney stared at her exec, uncomprehending. “What?”

  “That’s what the Irish citizens call the planet — Aerieland. They consider the name ‘16 Cygni B-2’ to be abhorrent, another symbol of corporate repression.”

  “Ah.” The captain said nothing for a moment. “Whatever — no, on second thought, noted. That tidbit may come in handy at some point, in dealing with O’Shaugnassey. For now, route us to ... all right, to Aerieland ... first thing out of the repair dock. A brief stop only, though. I am not going down. I can ‘show the badge’ just fine by comm. Then we make for Outpost Station. Word came in while you were gone that Manager Rudolph has arranged that meet I wanted with the local militia.”

  Garvey nodded. “A brief stop then Outpost Station, aye,” he said. “Was there anything else, Captain?”

  Sydney shook her head. “No. You have a report to write and I have a ship to run. Dismissed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  1

  “Roger that, control,” Chloe said, then touched the series of contacts that would lock down all functions of her ship except external access to the cargo holds. “Dockin’ complete. Freighter CB two-slash-one three seven three is fully secured and statused for freight transfers.”

  “Copy that, CB two-slash-one three seven three,” came the competent voice of control through Chloe’s headset. “You are now ...” there was a click on the background, “... on station power and air. We are ready to receive your commercial link.”

  “Commercial link activated,” Chloe reported, after starting the system that would provide exactly that function.

  “And ... I see it,” control reported. “You are all set. Welcome back, Chloe.”

  Chloe started slightly, not having recognized the voice of station control. “Sandy? Is it you?”

  “None other.”

  “Hey,” Chloe said, brightening at recognizing an old friend. “’Tis good to be hearin’ your voice! I didn’t recognize you at first — it’s been all too long a while since last we talked. How’s the family?”

  There was a chuckle over the comm. “Happy and healthy and one person bigger,” Sandy answered, and Chloe could clearly hear a grin of pride come through the signal from stationside. “Beatrice Catherine, born six weeks ago. That’s why we haven’t talked in a while — today is actually my first shift back from family leave.”

  “Saints be praised,” Chloe almost squealed at the news, “and a blessin’ on you and that man of yours!” Her enthusiasm was heightened by the surprise. “And here I didn’t even know you were in a family way. I’ll have to be stoppin’ by to say hello.” Sandy Zielienowski was one of the few real friends she’d developed outside of her uncle’s organization. At first it had been merely convenient to have a contact inside the Outpost Station docking authority, but over the years the two had found more and more things that they shared in common and a true friendship had developed. Chloe felt a pang flash through her as she realized that, friends or not, the two of them weren’t bosom buddies. The birth of a baby wouldn’t come as a complete surprise, after all, to people who were truly close. Still,
a baby was happy news.

  “Yeah, Bill and I would love to see you,” Sandy said, completely unaware of Chloe’s more melancholy thoughts. “Maybe you’d like to try your hand at babysitting? What’ya think, Aunt Chloe? How long you going to be on station this time?”

  “Sure and I don’t know if it’ll be in the cards this time, “ Chloe groaned. “I’m only here on a quick supply run, Sandy — a couple of days, at most.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sandy told her. “You think you’ll be able to drop by at all?”

  “I always make time for my friends,” Chloe reassured her. “I may not be able to make it a long visit, but I will definitely find the time to be meetin’ young Ms. Beatrice.”

  Sandy laughed. “Yeah, and you’ll immediately find out that Bill’s taken to calling her Katie,” the controller said. “And he’s already spoiling her rotten.”

  “Of course he is,” Chloe laughed back. “That’s the whole meanin’ of bein’ a da, isn’t it?”

  “That’s what I’m seeing so far.”

  “I’ll be givin’ you a call when I manage to free myself up for a visit.”

  “Sounds good,” Sandy responded, still chuckling. “See you later, then Chloe. Control, out.”

  Chloe was still smiling as she unhooked herself from her ship’s controls and began to prepare for her time on Outpost Station. There weren’t a whole lot of things on her shopping list beyond the usual provisions for a base full of hungry mouths, but those few extras were important. She’d worked hard to scrimp and save enough funds to acquire some long overdue parts for several needy ships, as well as the base itself — no easy task when virtually all of their resources went, of necessity, toward the provisions so desperately needed on Aerieland. Still, Chloe was painfully aware — and Patrick was as well, though he begrudged the admission — that maintaining their small fleet was critical to obtaining those things for Aerieland. Maintaining the base was important as well; not even pirates fared well if they couldn’t breathe, or froze due to a defective power core. Even more than food, she was eager to get those “extras” purchased.